Summer Belongs to Us
by ChartreuseTablecloths
Summary: He had been brilliant, once. There was nothing he couldn't do, or create. But that . . . other boy . . . could do all that and more, and all he and to do was wish. He didn't have to work, but Phineas poured his blood, sweat, and tears into his creations. "So," Phineas reasoned. "if I have the power to create, then I have the right to destroy." And that was how it started.
1. Chapter 1

The red-haired man stood quietly in line, his hands in his pockets, waiting in mute silence for the roller coaster.

The sound around him was deafening. All screaming children and blinding lights, loud music and vibrant, larger-than-life colors. It would've been fun, if it weren't so frightening.

The roller coaster stood strong and resolute through it all, a towering structure of metal girders, cords, support beams, nuts, bolts, and nails. It was a triumph of engineering, with a twelve-story drop and a dozens loops that seemed to defy gravity and make one's stomach soar with excitement.

The red-haired man's eyes could see every bolt, every screw, every patch of welding. The shapes spun in his mind, disassembling and reassembling into a thousand different shapes. There was so much potential, here. He could see every detail, acknowledge it, and understand it. He could tell at a glance how many days it had taken to build, and, potentially, how many hours.

He stood in line with a dozen children and a weary-eyed teacher, and all but the teacher cheered in delight when the roller coaster stopped beside the platform, ejecting a batch of sick-looking schoolmates off the cars. The red-haired man boarded, sitting in the very back car. It creaked dangerously beneath him, and his mind whirled through a dozen ways to make it more secure.

The bored-looking attendant came around and buckled everyone in, coming to the red-haired man and frowning. "Aren't you a little old to be on this roller coaster?" He asked, fastening him firmly in his seat anyway.

"Yes." said the red-haired man quietly. "Yes I am."

The attendant shrugged, and returned to his post. Not long after, the cars began to move, and, slowly, they trudged up the hill.

The straps felt uncomfortably tight against the red-haired man's skin. He wondered about which of ten ways there were to improve them.

Of course, _he_ couldn't improve them. Not anymore.

He'd been quite clever, once upon a time. There was nothing he couldn't build, nothing he couldn't fix. But nowadays . . . nowadays . . .

He began to hate the roller coaster. He tugged furiously at the straps, trying to rip them off. They weren't anywhere near the top of the hill yet, and he could feel himself beginning to sweat from nerves. The girders weren't secure, they would snap, and the nails would rust, and the iron would bend and bow and break.

If _he'd_ built the roller coaster, they wouldn't break.

The girl sitting in front of him turned in her seat to look at him. She couldn't have been more than ten. "Hey, mister." He said. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine!" He snapped.

She shrank back. "Sorry. I was just asking." She mumbled.

"No, I'm sorry." The red-haired man said stiffly. "I shouldn't have snapped."

"My name's Phoebe Terese." The girl said. She looked up at the top of the hill. They were almost halfway there, now. Half the coaster was bristling with anticipation.

"You're on a field trip, I see." said the red-haired man.

"Oh! Yeah." Phoebe nodded. "Isn't it cool?"

The red-haired man did not reply.

"I think it's awesome." Phoebe continued, returning to a front-facing position. "I can't believe we're going to the amusement park on a field trip! I can't imagine a field trip more exciting, can you?"

"No." said the red-haired man distantly, looking down at the station below them. They were high, now. Separated from death by only the engineering prowess of a few adults. _It wouldn't take much_, pondered the red-haired man, _to bring the whole mess to the ground._

_It wouldn't take much at all._

"I'm transferring to a new school next month." Phoebe was saying, as the rose ever-closer to the top of the hill. "I sure hope it's a lot like this school."

It was all settled in his mind before his hand even touched his cell phone. A plan laid out from beginning to end, and he could see every bolt that held it together, every girder that was essential to bring his intentions to light. He saw the world like a geometry problem, an algebraic equation, a mechanism that needed to be constructed. And he would construct this mechanism perfectly. It was, after all, what he did.

The roller coaster had to go.

It all had to go.

The red-haired man pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. They were almost there. The cars were just about to crest the hill.

He flipped open his phone and hit speed dial. He put it to his ear and it buzzed softly, waiting to picked up.

Someone on the other end picked up the phone. Though there was no voice, he could hear quiet, expectant breathing.

"Hey, Ferb." The red-haired man said. "I know what we're going to do today."

And the roller coaster plummeted down the hill.


	2. Chapter 2

The young detective took a deep breath to steady her nerves, and stepped into the chief's office, file under her arm.

The chief was sitting behind his desk, as he usually was. He was hunched over, scribbling and signing things. Everything in the room seemed to angle itself towards him, as if giving the impression that the young detective was way, way out of her depth.

She coughed nervously. "Ehm . . ."

The chief looked up, a scowl on his face. "I'm not happy." He said in a low, rough voice. "I am not happy at all."

"I understand that, sir."

"Are you aware of the panic that has arisen throughout the city? The fear? The doubt?"

"Yes, sir."

"You had better have some solid theories for me this time, Detective Flynn, and not one of your whacked-out conspiracy theories. Need I remind you that you're the only officer on the force required to attend therapy three times a week?"

Detective Candace Flynn looked down at her shoes. "I'm aware of that, sir."

"Well then, I certainly hope that that file of your can explain to me how a tragedy like this can have happened in one of the safest and most reliable amusement parks in the tri-state area."

Candace nodded, and coughed again. She spread the file open on the desk and displayed the photographs of the carnage. "Two days ago, the main attraction in the Danville Park, the Thunder Road, was destroyed in a massive explosion that sent the the structure toppling across the southern half of the park. Fortunately, this happened after hours, so there were several injuries, but no deaths."

The chief nodded. "Go on."

"The day before the explosion took place, there was sighting of a red-haired man with an angular face. After riding the Thunder Road, he began to examine the structure closely enough for park personnel to arrive and ask him to leave. He left quietly, and was not heard from again."

"So?"

Candace took a deep breath. "I believe that this man was responsible for the bombing."

There was a long, pregnant pause. Outside the room, they could hear a commotion. It sounded like someone had been arrested, and was being brought in.

"That's it?" The chief said. "That's your theory?"

Candace's throat was dry. "I believe this bombing was cause by Phineas Flynn."

"Flynn. That's _your_ name, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir." Candace said. "It wouldn't be the first time Phine- I mean, Flynn, has done something like this. A red-haired man with an angular face was seen before several previous bombings in various cities across America. I believe he was also involved with those, possibly with his stepbrother, Ferb Fletcher, though he was never observed at the scene."

"This is the Danville police department, Detective Flynn. Why have you been investigating bombings that didn't occur here, or at the very least in the tri-state area?"

Candace did not answer.

"Have you been watching this Phineas Flynn character, trying to link him to these sorts of attacks? Well? Answer me, Detective Flynn."

"No, sir." She said. "I've just been interested."

"Well, I too am interested." The chief said. "Interested in how a fully-fledged detective can come up with an absurd theory like that one. How many witnesses did you have seeing this man?"

"Only children, sir, but-"

"Don't come back into my office unless you get something concrete, Detective Flynn. I intend to bust the real bombers behind this case, not some random hunch you may have."

Candace left the officer, staring at her shoes, file dangling from one hand.

The chief wouldn't belief her. True, the chief never believed _anyone_, but no one, _no one_ would ever believe her.

Her stories were strange, yes, but they were true. It wasn't her fault, she reasoned, that she had to go to therapy every week. It was their fault, for not believing her. It was their fault. All their fault.

So she would find Phineas Flynn on her own. She didn't need anyone to believe her. She was a detective now, with power and rules, and she could bust them herself, and be back before lunchtime.

The commotion in the hall outside grew louder, and Candace looked up, watching the doors to the hall. She could see people moving behind the marbled glass; it sounded like they'd arrested someone who wasn't too keen on being arrested.

Candace approached the doors and swung them open, allowing to officers to enter the room, dragging a handcuffed man between them. He was laughing to himself, and watching her from behind his bangs. He had scruffy brown hair, and a magenta cap and shirt.

"I believe you." He grinned.

"Shut up." Growled one of the officers, pulling him through the lobby to the holding cells.

"Wait!" Candace exclaimed, putting an arm out in front of them.

"Detective Flynn, we have to get this kid to the detention cells." said the officer roughly. "He's wanted for robbery." To punctuate the sentence, he held up a scrap of paper.

She took it, and smoothed it out. After a moment, she looked up. "Mister . . ."

"Timmy, please." Timmy said, smiling.

"Timmy Turner." sigher the other officer with an air of unendurable boredom.

"Mr. Turner," Candace continued. "it says here that you stole a rubber goose, a green moose, a bottle of guava juice, a giant snake, a birthday cake, a large order of fries, and a chocolate milkshake."

He giggled. "I've led a fairly odd life."

"We're taking him to the cells." said the bored officer, pushing past Candace. "He's only seventeen, so we'll call his parents and make-"

Timmy let out a righteous peal of laughter so loud and so sudden that Candace jumped. He was bent double, he was laughing so hard, and the officers had to drag him by his cuffed arms.

"Wait!" Candace cried, as they wrestled him down the stairs to the cell block. "What do you mean, you believe me?"

"Phineas Flynn!" Timmy sang joyously. "The bomber, it was that scumbag Phineas Flynn!"

And then they vanished downstairs.


End file.
